


A red tale

by VolksParadox



Series: Tales [1]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Gunslinger Anna, It says right there in the tags: Tragedy, Not A Happy Ending, Tragedy, Western
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28439256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolksParadox/pseuds/VolksParadox
Summary: Leaving behind the sun-scorched deserts, Anna follows a bounty into the far North. As she ventures into a small town, a fated encounter will test her resolve and her way of life. Some paths, she knows, are colored red.
Relationships: Anna & Elsa (Disney), Anna/Elsa (Disney)
Series: Tales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083143
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been in the works for months, ever since I heard of the passing of Ennio Morricone, the fantastic composer of the soundtracks for the most famous Spaguetti Western movies (see, The Dollars Trilogy and Once Upon a Time in the West). Ever since I was young, I loved those movies, and this fic is, in a way, a love letter to one of my favorite genres. Also, me writing Gunslinger Anna has been long overdue.
> 
> The tags are there, but I'll reiterate in here: this fic does not have a happy ending. Its written taking heavy inspiration from the more bleak depictions of the Wild West era, so expect heavy violence and death on the upcoming chapters.  
> To those who stick around, I hope you enjoy, as this project is very close to my heart. Special thanks to my sister, prototyp013, for beta'ing and for sticking around with me through the whole editing process, and a special shoutout to Ink from the Elsanna Shenanigans Server for her insightful feedback and corrections.
> 
> Expect the following chapter soon! Cheers!

**A red tale**

**I**

The storm did not relent. Outside the cave, the rain poured lazily, a windless, endless wave that obscured the night view. There was no moonlight to shed light onto the vast, darkened plains outside her hideout.

Anna sat by a tiny fire, chewing on the last of the rabbit’s thin limbs. She washed it down with the hard liquor that had accompanied her the last few days. By now, she barely felt the effects of the whiskey. She drank, thirsty, her ears filled with the numbing sound of the cascading waters.

She drank to fade into blissful oblivion.

~ooo~

_Five years ago_

Up in the north, the sun’s hand was gentler. Greenery filled almost every corner, the hills covered by a deep array of lush emeralds and browns, glistening with the remnants of the morning mists.

A few men drove their cattle along the dirt trail as she steered her horse up the soft slope. Rosario mirrored all the other frontier towns she had passed through over the summer. There were just a handful of flat buildings on both sides of the thin road, and the constant murmur of the passing stagecoaches. She hoped to find cheap lodging; the eagles of her last bounty would soon dry out. She could’ve camped outside town, of course, but after a whole week of rough travel she felt entitled to at least a stiff, rodent-holed mattress.

Not many people ventured so far north, past the heart of Utah. She had left behind the great canyons and dry plains of the far-reaching hand of the Arizona desert: in here, playful, rapid rivers came down the mountain ranges, feeding the vibrant valleys and forests that extended upwards all the way to the lonesome peaks in Montana’s border. Even the air felt different; each breath she took from the cold breeze fed her the sweetish smell of wet dirt and pine needles.

Eager to find a warm bed, she gently spurred her black stallion up the road. Just as she passed below the high wooden archway that marked the town’s entrance, a couple of men stepped in from either side of the road, both holding rifles.

“Who goes there?” Asked the first of the men, tall and bearded, as he spat the tobacco he had been chewing.

Anna handed him a thumb-worn fold of paper from inside her weathered dustcoat.

“Bounty-hunting?” The man exclaimed after he read it, his eyebrows shooting up. He looked at her again and laughed. “This some kind of joke?”

His companion smiled, showing a couple of missing teeth. She didn’t dignify them with an answer, not even a derisive scoff.

“Where’s the Sheriff?” She asked, keeping her gaze purposely low so that her black gambler hat obscured most of her features.

“The Marshal, you mean.” The second man corrected. He pointed towards a small building to her right. Both followed her on foot as she rode her horse towards the building.

“Carson! Come look at this.” The tall man said, pounding on the door. A few seconds passed before the doorway slung open and a portly, fat man stepped outside. He was bald and barefaced, and the faint blush on his baby skin told her this man did not exercise often. Even below his army jacket, she could see the strain his suspenders had to endure. Bead-like eyes looked questioningly at the bearded man, who handed him her papers.

He read it, and the same dumb smile of his goons appeared on his round face.

“You a bounty-hunter?” He seized her up, stepping down the few stairs to close on her mount. “Even with the freckles?”

The trio cackled. “You certainly look the part.” The bearded man chuckled. “Did pops let you play with his stuff?”

The Marshal and his men all laughed again but she glared straight at them, unfazed.

“Do you even know how to use that thing?” The Marshal mocked, pointing to the Sharp that hung over her shoulder.

Anna suppressed an eye-roll. In one swift motion, she dismounted, landing smoothly in front of him. She looked around and quickly found a proper target. It was a hanging sign further down the dirt trail, at least five or six buildings away, with a tiny depiction of a horse, painted in white. She pointed at it, and using her left arm as support, she aimed without bothering to use the tang sight of her weapon.

The first shot she missed on purpose. The trio burst into a hard laugh. She looked back at them, a crooked smirk surfacing on her lips, and this time she aimed true, lifting the sight. In quick succession, she fired two shots: the first hit the horse’s head, the second its back. Both dead center.

The bullets whistled against the men’s sudden silence as the sign swung loudly. Even a couple of bystanders stood still, looking at her wide-eyed.

 _Always the same_ , Anna scoffed, seeing their dropped jaws. She hung her rifle back on her shoulder.

“I’m just passing.” She said dryly, turning back to face them. “I’m after _‘El chico’_.” She pointed to one of the few _Wanted_ pictures nailed on the newsboard. The Marshal stared back at her, surprise still clear on his small, round eyes.

“Yes, of course…” He rubbed his clean-shaved chin and returned her permit. “We did hear from some cattle farmers back yonder… say, a week back. Lone traveler on a black horse, much like yours in fact. Scar on the neck.” His hands motioned an invisible noose around his own neck.

“I think he may be hiding some miles up the western branch,” he continued. “Couple of my men went after him, returned empty-handed…”

Anna nodded. “Where can I find a room?” She asked after remounting. One of the Marshal’s men snickered. This time she did roll her eyes.

“At Bill’s, most likely. Over there.” Said the Marshal, half-smiling. He pointed behind her to a two-store building. “Do not start troubles, lady. We here uphold the law, men and women alike.”

 _I bet_ , Anna thought sarcastically. She knew his kind: ‘ _All gurgle and no guts_ ’, her father would’ve said.

She acknowledged him with a curt nod and rode deeper into town.

-w-

It seemed that all the travelers she had ghosted since Fort Hall had gathered to enjoy themselves on Bill’s Saloon.

She looked around, bored. A couple of tanned men were dancing around merrily, their loose cotton shirts stained with sweat. Most of the other patrons clapped along, following the cues from the piano man on the other end of the room. The whole saloon felt uncomfortably hot, as if its occupants tried to over-compensate the humid cold of the outside. Some of the men on the adjacent tables shot her dirty looks, but they all stopped shy of provoking her once they saw her father’s Colt hanging from her belt; also, her little stunt from earlier would be common knowledge by now. Such was life in a town as small as this one.

She took a swing from her pony glass, suppressing a grimace. Only one drink, as always: anymore and sleep would flee instead of arriving.

After the final notes drifted off and the men had finished their little dance, that is when she finally saw her.

She stood by the piano, a hand suggestively resting over her prominent hips. Hard, derisive eyes overlooked the drunk-filled saloon, with her golden hair kept in a low, messy bun; her ample bosom, Anna quickly noticed, stood proud on her rouge cleavage. She stared at her unabashedly and eventually their gazes met; Anna broke the contact first. The woman’s glare was painfully piercing: her long lashes and fine eyebrows were sharp as whips.

She cursed, not the woman but herself.

 _This ain’t good_ , she thought, a little shaken. Against her better judgment, she dared another quick glance. The blonde’s hips swayed as she walked towards the bar, and her gaze rebelled, following her alluring pace. Knowing, sky-blue eyes shot back at her. Cursing again, she turned away and stared emptily into the darkness she could see though the saloon’s windows.

Damned be her weakness for women. Anna swore she would not turn again.

A hard _thump_ on the table startled back her attention. The redhead looked up – a little dumbfounded – to find a pair of steely orbs glaring down at her and a bottle of cheap-looking rum on her hand.

Her heels clicked hard against the wooden floor as she circled the table. “New ‘round here, are you dear?” the woman teased smoothly, sitting and leaning into the opposite chair. A smirk blossomed in her angelical face.

Her voice was deeper than Anna had expected, and it made her skin crawl pleasantly as the words rolled into her ears. From her eyes’ corner, she saw a couple of jealous glares from some of the male patrons around. The stockinged legs of the blonde were temptingly crossed. The gunslinger finished her drink before speaking. Something about this woman rattled her, so she drank herself a little liquid courage.

“Quite right,” she replied, some bravado slipping into her words. The woman’s smile widened. She took the bottle and poured her some.

“Take it.” The blonde demanded, her violet, plump lips curling in amusement. “It seems you could use some more.” A bullet-like wink followed.

“We don’t get many female travelers ‘round here.” The painted lady continued. Her head leaned playfully to her right, peeking into Anna’s outfit. “Less so, armed ones.”

The redhead noticed how long her neck was, how her purple eye’s shadow complimented her high cheekbones and pale skin. She eyed her carefully, taking a second swing at her drink.

The lady immediately refilled her glass.

“I ain’t like most.” Anna replied dryly, not willing to surrender into her alluring smile. Even if she didn’t want to give in, the hotness on her body told her otherwise. Her long dustcoat and thick woolen shirt began to feel oppressive.

The blonde chuckled at her answer. It appeared she didn’t mind her harsh tone. “I do hope so…” She said heavily, her blue gaze examining her. Anna gulped hard; even she could take the hint. Instead of a verbal answer, she leaned over, meaning to take the glass, but the woman’s arm shot forward, taking it out of her reach. With a self-satisfied grin, she downed the drink. Then, she took the rum from the table, standing up.

“If you want the rest,” she began, shaking the bottle a little, “you’ll have to invite me…”

Just as she passed her, the blonde bent over, whispering into her ear: “… upstairs.”

Her delicate, netted hand lingered – just an instant – over her coat’s shoulder before she retreated to her spot by the piano.

Anna stayed put, only occasionally stealing glances the lady’s way. Temptation grew inside her chest as she sat there, simmering in her teasing words and provocative looks. The songs and the dancing carried on and so did a continuous, almost playful game of subdued stares that broke only when a drunk man made his way towards the blonde temptress. The woman’s tight, polite smile she offered to the newcomer felt wrong. The redhead’s eyes shot daggers at him when his sleazy hand grabbed the lady by the forearm. It just rubbed her the wrong way.

Anna stood up violently, almost trashing her chair to the floor. After taking a moment to make sure her sight would not betray her – cheap drinks were the worst –, she grabbed her hat off the chair and made her way in between the tables that separated her from the back end of the room.

The blonde looked her way, and Anna shot her a hard glare. Immediately, she stormed off towards the stairs, feeling those piercing eyes on her back as they followed her.

Damned be her weakness for women.

She waited for her, and once the lady emerged from the stairs, Anna immediately opened the room she had rented for the night. As soon as the blonde passed her – leaving behind a faint smell of lavender – she slammed the door shut, uncaring for the loud noise it made. The laughs and cries from the hallway faded instantly.

An oil lamp lit the strangely cozy room. Furs and some Indian tapestry adorned the walls, and under her feet was a rouge carpet that matched the blonde’s knee-high petticoat.

The blonde took off her heels, revealing her petit feet. Anna’s gaze followed upwards, looking at her long legs covered by black stockings. The lady sat on the bed, both her hands extended on either side of her body.

“Are you gonna stay there?” she inquired, amused.

“What’s your name?” Anna asked innocuously, not taking her eyes off her. The blonde looked up, her face suddenly void of emotions.

“Violet.” She answered simply.

The gunslinger knew she was lying. She walked towards the bed, the heat of anticipation rapidly settling between her thighs. Awkwardly, she too sat on the bed, making the mattress sink a little under their weight.

Azure orbs turned to seize her. Anna’s breath shook a little as pale hands skillfully undid the laces of the red dress that covered the blonde’s chest. Immediately after the dress, a white bodice followed, releasing the woman’s full breasts, crowned by her pink nipples. Not a single mole or scar blemished her moon-pale skin, and there was no shame or petty chastity in Violet’s actions.

The coy shine in the woman’s eyes almost made Anna growl. Somehow, she felt unreasonably angered. She had always been attracted to women, that much she knew, but never had anyone rattled her so badly. It felt dangerous, like she was an animal being cornered, the dreadful anticipation of the killing knife hanging over her head. They had just met, and Anna’s hands trembled as she took off her coat.

A part of her wondered if the other woman was suffering anything remotely close to the swirl of emotions that now corralled her. Her amused mask felt cold and rude.

“Why me?” Anna finally asked through her dry throat.

Slowly, her fingers began to trail the milky skin of Violet’s shoulders, savoring the unreal softness on her fingertips. The lower she descended, the smoother it felt.

“Well…” Violet uttered breathily as Anna’s hand cupped one of her breasts, “… I have a thing for redheads…”

The foreign anger boiling inside Anna spilled, warming all her limbs. She rushed forward, eager to capture the other’s lips, but Violet was faster. Gloved hands roughly shoved her back, abruptly taking charge. Before continuing, the temptress sneaked a hand in the inner pocket off her discarded coat and took a handful of bills. Anna couldn’t care less. All she needed was the searing bliss those blue eyes promised. The blonde smirked, leaning over her and taking one of her locks in between her fingers. Whatever tiredness Anna had felt since noon quickly vanished.

The blonde then dragged her hand in between the valley of her small breasts, slowly descending. As she teased Anna’s skin over her shirt, the muscles below her navel went taut in anticipation. The redhead’s back tensed; her heels pushed into the mattress. She squirmed inside her pants, suddenly a great deal too useless. Her belt clinked as it fell over the carpet, followed by her boots, after which nimble, pale fingers began to unbutton her pants and shirt.

Violet exhaled in her mouth, grinning as she bit her lower lip. Hungrily, Anna’s head pushed forward again, vainly trying to catch those teasing lips. They locked gazes as the air heaved and warmed in between their bodies.

“Don’t be hasty.” The blonde whispered, her eyes bewitching her into a still stone. “Morning’s still a long way.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, many thanks to prototyp013 and Ink for beta'ing and for their always useful commentary.  
> Also, here is a link for a small Spotify playlist I use constantly while writing this fic, containing many of Morricone's best songs:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0ZphpigZBpSLSxEgKNfZEx?si=9_XhO2NYTvyhqeAIztyoCw
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Next chapter is coming soon!

**II**

She woke up shivering. She had tried to use her poncho to get some warmth over the night, but to no avail. From the cave’s entrance, she could see most of the northern valley springing to life: a shimmering sea of pine forests that covered the mountain’s skirts.

It had been another damp, rainy fall, and she hated waking up cold.

She stayed put for a long time, just lying on the hard floor. She had to get up, she knew, but couldn’t drag herself.

Her heart bled, but still beat inside her numb chest. It wouldn’t last, nor she wished for it. Memories slowly crawled into her mind, pushing with a bull’s stubbornness, but she drove those reveries far away.

They’d only slow her down. 

~ooo~

**_Five years ago_ **

Over the next week, she invited Violet to her room four more times, almost once each other day. All it took was a single, long glare as she made her way upstairs in Bill’s Saloon. In the morning of the eight day, the news she had been waiting for finally arrived at Rosario.

An old cattleman and his wife had been assaulted by an unknown man of fine features, just by the eastern brook, but they had identified him thanks to the unmistakable rope scar on his neck. The news spread quickly. It seemed the Marshal’s tip had been true after all. A party of three of Rosario’s men had gathered on the evening and announced they would leave the next morning.

This was her chance. They would not find ‘ _El chico_ ’, but she would, thanks to them.

She invited Violet to her room after the sun went down, even though she had done so the day before. Anna couldn’t help herself. She had begun to dip into her savings by now, but the burning trace of the woman’s hands over her skin was just too tempting.

They spent the night together, and again Anna experienced the blinding bliss Violet’s touch brought her: by now, they had learned each other’s rhythms and likings, and the gunslinger began to think the thirst the blonde had stirred inside her may never be quenched.

-w-

In the dim, grey light of the early dawn, Anna began to prepare. After she put on her trousers, she sat in front of the small table opposite to the bed and grabbed her leather bag from the floor. The room’s warmth had faded, but she forwent her woolen shirt for the time being: after years in the desert, the sharp coldness on her bare chest was a welcomed change.

A single creak of the mattress alerted her that Violet – or whatever her true name was – had awoken as well. Anna ignored the feeling of those sea-blue eyes staring at her and began to take apart her revolvers, piece-by-piece, dripping some oil into a cloth afterwards. Almost mechanically, she carefully cleaned each part of the weapons: chambers, barrel and the simple mechanism of the hammer and the trigger. Putting her guns back together always felt oddly satisfying.

After she finished her usual pre-hunting ritual, she grabbed a leather-wrapped box from inside her bag and, quickly unwrapping the lace with her teeth, took out a handful of bullets, filling each gun. She spun the cylinders and nodded to herself, content with the smooth metallic _clicks_ of the spotless steel. Another creak from the bed signaled the gunslinger that the other woman had got up.

The redhead didn’t turn; instead, she stared at her guns, her head hung low. Strangely enough, Violet did not leave the room immediately as every other night before, and when Anna felt the fluttery touch of the woman’s lips on her uncovered shoulder, she froze, even if her belly warmed at the unexpected gesture.

“Good luck,” the blonde’s voice said, the words laced with a heaviness that Anna didn’t dare to hope meant worry. By the time she did turn around, her room’s door had just closed.

-v-

Half an hour after the Marshal’s men left, Anna rode out of town as well, tailing them. She had packed her stallion full with a week’s worth of supplies: canvassing unknown terrain would take her a while. After tracking the men for about an hour, she reined her mount off the main dirt road and began venturing into the countryside.

Anna rode for hours as she committed to memory the location of the few caves and deep ditches on the forest grounds around her, taking weird-shaped trees and great rock lodges as anchoring sites for her to remember. She stayed away from the small creek entirely, knowing the fugitive she sought would avoid it for a couple days.

She also knew something Rosario’s men did not. ‘ _El chico_ ’ was injured. From what she had gathered, there were no more settlements or trading posts past town: all that remained north and west was Indian territory and the vast, intricate mix of rich valleys and the forests of Montana and Nevada.

‘ _El chico_ ’ had to stay close to Rosario or risk the dangerous, bandit-ridden trail all the way to Oregon City. As she had expected, he kept close to running water since it was his only chance of staving off an infection on his wounds.

Good sense would dictate a different course of action but the outlaw life had but a few paths. For them, there was no searching for safe haven in the cities or in most towns: all roads left usually lead to a quick death or the loneliness of exile. Without his band, ‘ _El chico_ ’ was practically a dead man, a singled-out buck lured into a dead-end by fate’s uncaring hand, and she was the bullet with his name.

Using the last of the day’s light, she sketched a rough map of the area west of Rosario and took her mount into the edge of the long extension of woodland, leaving the clean grassy fields behind her.

The forest was quieter than the desert, Anna realized that first night. She laid over the soft, mushy ground, wrapped and cuddled by her thin blanket. Small puffs of air left her lips with every breath, and she silently cursed the impossibility of even a small fire. Lying by herself and without a certain blonde’s presence, all she could do was think and reminisce till sleep blessed her. As with so many other things about that woman, Anna was bothered by the fact she already missed her touch. The coldness was acute, and aside from the occasional hoots, only the whispering winds accompanied her; without moonlight, deep darkness had taken over.

Hidden underneath the blanket, she felt the weight of her father’s old Navy Colt resting over her lap. Outdoors, she could not fall asleep without feeling the weapon’s grip between her hands.

There were no female gunslingers. The ones who tried did not survive long. Father would’ve been proud, she knew, for making it this far: in a couple months, she would turn twenty-seven. It felt like an accomplishment, given her line of work.

She could’ve stayed back in her home on the outskirts of Kansas. She could’ve taken a husband she didn’t love, and lived a lie she’d grow to abhor.

Yet the dice cast was different for her.

During her childhood, she used to get lost in the caverns and dry plains around her dusty village. A particular favorite of hers had been running along the brook’s path, giggling as she splashed in it. The sun’s golden rays shone on the few patches of tall, dry grass and wild wheat that surrounded her on all sides, and its fleeting beauty was something that had remained unmatched ever since. Father had always managed to track her before the light faded, and by her eleventh birthday both her parents gave up their wish to see her stay at home.

Father soon took her with him on his hunting trips. As her younger years flickered away, she found her spark there. She could finally breathe free. They camped in the gaping crevasses of the desert canyons, following the trail of lone whitetails or old elks, and the occasional, more slippery and cunning coyotes. During the cold, howling nights she spent laid flat against the hard earth, next to the dying campfire, she just stargazed for hours on end.

She learnt how to kill and how to squint her eyes at the right time. She learnt how to spot game, the right way to lean onto her rifle and when to hold her breath before pulling. Her hands stopped shaking in a matter of weeks. Father’s firm lessons unlocked the subtle secrets of her prey’s trails; the intricate canyons and undulating, barren hills opened up like a book. By the time she had her first bleed, she could decipher those signs like she could read letters on paper.

Years after her parents had passed – both victims of the terrible consumption that had ravaged her village – she realized the same lessons applied to hunting men as well.

-w-

She found him three days later. First, she spotted a small dot coming out of the surrounding woods, making its way along an array of bushes and fallen trees that followed the bank of the small current below. Her newfound refuge – a small flat of rock at the top of a steep forested crest – overlooked the loneliest part of the trail west, and she had stayed vigilant for most of the day, the same way she sometimes had to do when spotting game: hidden and unmoving. The Marshal’s men had returned to Rosario the day before, meaning the bandit could now step closer to the small current.

As she chewed on some salted jerky, she looked through her small spyglass while lying flat on her stomach. Her right hand covered the edge of the telescope so the glimmer would not betray her position.

Even from miles away, she could recognize his mop of pale hay-colored hair. As quickly as it had appeared, his dirty figure disappeared into the forest.

Righteous anticipation quickly built up inside her chest. Finally, she could put this weeks-long hunt to rest.

-w-

The soft, deepening blue of the early night had settled. Her black stallion pastured leisurely at her side; on top of the saddle was a bundle of gear and blankets covered by her dustcoat, barely shaped into a human form. That would have to do.

Anna took a deep breath. This was her only chance to lure out her target, and speed was paramount.

She took her rifle and quickly shot twice into the air. The shots roared and echoed all across the woods, and immediately after she fired, her hand smacked the rear of her horse, sending him straight into the fields. Anna took off as well, running alongside the thickest part of the forest, circling around the current while keeping an eye for any movement. Eventually, her mount slowed down into a walk in the middle of the field of grass that separated the current from the forest.

 _Perfect_ , the gunslinger thought briefly.

When she reached the northern part of the small stream, she crossed it quickly, entering the woods on the other side. She crouched and kept advancing, ever so slowly, one small step at a time.

If her plan worked, ‘ _El chico_ ’ would be looking at the stream, considering whether to risk going after her horse and its presumably injured rider. If it didn’t… his bullets would find her very quickly. Tall trees and all kinds of bushes filled her vision. She kept a steady and careful peace. A single misstep, a snapping branch could betray her. After a few minutes, she finally caught the first glimpse of his camp: a small, brown blanket used as a tent, poorly hidden below a net of branches and leaves.

Anna hid behind a twisted, half-fallen beech, couple of yards away, and she waited. Her shaky breath soon settled, and her hearing became attuned with her surroundings. The world had stilled into a deep silence and nightfall casted its heavy, dark cover.

She waited. The fact she wasn’t dead yet reassured her. Her Sharp lay at her side, with her Colt tightly gripped.

And waited. The sharp chill she had felt during the last nights had begun to cramp her legs, yet she waited, never taking her eyes off the camp. It had taken her more than a decade for her natural eagerness to calm.

Anna heard him before she saw him: soft footsteps, coming from the south. At a snail’s pace, she pointed her revolver towards the sounds. A lone shadow emerged and walked into the small camp, sitting down on the ground. His lean silhouette moved around, and a small spark of fire was quickly followed by a bright red dot shining like an angry firefly in the darkness. The man sighed and puffed as he gazed upwards.

Even though he heard the distinctive click of her gun’s hammer – his head turning in her direction – he never got the chance to even reach for his gun before her first bullet put him on his back. He scrambled and tried to get on his feet unsteadily.

“Don’t.” She ordered loudly, firing a second shot, close enough to his head that his ear must have painfully rang. With a quick stroll, the redhead closed the distance, gun still at the ready.

Since her eyes had long adapted to the darkness, she had no trouble recognizing him. Blonde, messy hair, a chiseled, stubble-filled jaw. Brown trousers and a Texan jacket completed his ragged outfit. Anna could even see the marred skin of his scar – the remnants of his daring, last minute escape from the law –, or so the tale went. Most often than not, the grandiose stories of the outlaws she tracked down were far simpler.

He groaned as he sat up using only his left hand; a black stain quickly spread across his shirt from his right shoulder.

The man squinted at her and after a few seconds, he released a thick nasal laugh, the contours of his eyes showing the first hints of recognition. The young bandit – perhaps even younger than Anna herself – shook his head, kicking the dirt with his boot’s heel.

“I thought my brother got you last time.”

“He didn’t.” Anna said dryly. “I got him.”

‘ _El chico_ ’ nodded. “He did get some of yours. You’re persistent,” he stated through a pained, crooked grin, “I’ll give you that.”

He spat.

“We could split the bounty.” He continued. “Take on the town. They don’t stand a chance.” The blonde man said weakly, staring directly into her eyes.

Anna cocked her gun as a response. The man sighed.

“The bounty says dead or alive…” He snarled. “So, take me in…” Grimacing, the man offered his joined hands in surrender.

Anna narrowed her eyes as bitter memories soured her thoughts. She remembered her party of bounty hunters, acquaintances made friends as the years passed. Their failed ambush. The deafening gunfight. The bodies of her allies, falling one by one, and the spent cases laying on the sand, shining brighter than the blood.

She had been spared, miraculously; only she and the bleeding man in front of her.

Anna made a quick, curt head movement to the side, ordering him to move. She never took her finger of the trigger. The man grunted as he began to stand up, but halfway through the motion his right hand reached for his boot. ‘ _El chico_ ’ did not get to unsheathe his pocket-gun. A clean shot to the head was all it took, its biting sound fading into the starry night. His figure crumbled onto its side. The gunslinger stared at him.

Every fight, every hunt was a coin-toss. The lifeless, young man at her feet had lost this one.

It was a grim reminder.

After she looted the camp, she began to drag his body out of the woods.

-w-

The news spread as quickly as she had expected.

Most of the townsfolk had come to Bill’s Saloon and loudly cheered her. The same men who gave her nasty looks now clapped and whistled, making noise by slamming their heels into the floor. One of the Marshal’s men even bought her a drink, patting her heavily on the shoulder as he left her alone at the bar.

She couldn’t care less about their approval. The bounty’s money was in her pockets and her hunt complete: that was all that mattered.

Violet was nowhere to be seen, but Anna had a hunch she knew exactly where she was. More than an hour later, when she finally opened the door of her room, she was proven right. The painted lady had been waiting for her, sitting on the only chair in the room. After Anna closed the door, the other woman stood up and seductively walked towards her.

This time, it didn’t feel right. A hollowed feeling sunk ever deeper in her insides as Anna considered what would come next.

 _Not like this_ , she thought to her own surprise.

The smile on the lady’s face felt wrong as well.

Anna contained a trembling sigh. Perhaps it was already too late for her. There was only one way of knowing.

“I feel I should congratulate you.” Violet’s tone, again, promised her heaven. When her slim hands grabbed Anna’s coat, the redhead stopped her, grabbing the blonde’s wrists.

A questioning look immediately surfaced on the lady’s features. Anna tightened her hold slightly.

“I want to ask again.” She muttered.

The blonde’s expression – a mix of mirth and desire – fell. The young gunslinger saw it immediately: a crack in her always-raised defenses.

“Your real name?” Anna’s voice quavered at the last syllable.

The woman’s eyes hardened just a little, suddenly keen on examining her. After a moment of silent deliberation, the mask slipped. Her shoulders sagged a little, and her feet shifted into a more relaxed stance.

“Elsine.” She answered, her tone surprisingly low. “But you can call me Elsa.”

The gunslinger nodded, sharing a small grateful smile; her heart warmed when the woman returned the gesture. Pale hands pulled at her coat, and this time Anna allowed her companion to continue.

As they both shed their clothing, the blonde was the first to initiate a slow, heat-tempered kiss. Anna sighed into the silkiness of Elsa’s lips, content with this unusual – but oh, so sweet – pace. They parted again and again just to rejoin their mouths each time, a little bit slower, then a little bit faster. At some point, they separated for just an instant, allowing Elsa to climb on the bed.

Seeing the blonde laid bare in front of her, Anna’s arousal burned strong and the familiar ache pooled in between her thighs, always demanding. She admired Elsa’s naked beauty: the unscathed landscape of her body, of her long shapely legs and the small locks of curly golden hair framing her delicate face. Her whole body shined, and she couldn’t escape her whispering call.

Such a strong attraction… she had seen women and men alike fall into its madness. Elsa’s deadly gaze met with hers, and the redhead realized she had failed in threading carefully; she had – inevitably – fallen into the deep wells of her blue eyes.

She knew it foolhardy to stay. What could she offer her, aside from her own early grave?

How long till her luck ran out? How long till she was on the wrong end of the muzzle?

Against her better judgment, she spent another night in Elsa’s arms. She knew it foolish, to even think of her as more than mere pleasure, just a way of quelling her lust, but she had always been unable to lie convincingly, least of all to herself. The spark that had been ignited the first night only grew with each caress and each climax, spreading warmly over her heart as the mornings had rolled and she woke up to her heavenly features and her mischievous gaze.

They exchanged no words. Elsa knew she would leave, and said nothing. Yet, her fingers touched her cheeks more gently, her usually hard gaze soft and truthful. There was neither payment nor hurry, only the feverish touch Anna had come to revere.

Their lovemaking extended well into the night. Despair filled their gasps, a muted song of untold words and unshed tears. Time’s ruthlessness made their bodies’ dance a fragile tandem of feral touches. Anna held Elsa’s neck, locking gazes as they moved in concert. She drank from her eyes, swept by the sight of her flushed cheeks and her pale, murmuring lips.

Elsa’s back curved, held tight by Anna’s right hand; the left encased in the warmth of her lover’s intimacy. Moments later, when Anna found that sweet spot inside of her, Elsa’s teeth sunk into her bare shoulder, stifling a high-pitched cry. Anna’s heart jolted when she saw a few tears roll down her snowy cheek. The blonde’s body went slack as if suddenly all her strength fled, and Anna embraced her, feeling Elsa’s gasps and the tiny kisses she devoted to the redhead’s sensitive neck.

Gently, the lady pulled Anna down into the mattress, laying and facing each other. The soft caresses of her pale hands left a warm tingle over every inch of skin they touched.

As she fell asleep, Anna wished dawn would never come.

-w-

The next morning, when the sun finally rose above the pine’s treetops, Anna and her mount were well underway on the trail south. She had left behind no letters, nor words of farewell. Those would become a promise she knew she couldn’t keep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to prototyp013 and Ink for their feedback and enormous help!

**III**

She cursed under her breath, kneeling as her hand grazed the wet grass. The trail had gone cold; the blasted rain had messed it up.

 _It doesn’t matter_ , she reminded herself as she stood up, quickly remounting. The next few dry spots were just a day away, two at most. If she hastened, she could get to the ridges before they left them.

Delicate mists rose across the evergreen fields as her mare galloped through them; the morning breeze left small water beads all over her coat and face. Her gaze never left the rough terrain ahead, where the grey stone of the ridges peeked through the mantle of tall pines.

They had to be hidden somewhere in there. She had no time to waste, or else the rats would leave their nest.

~ooo~

**_Four years ago_ **

She returned a year later. A few new houses and stores had sprung to life on the outskirts of town, but Rosario had remained the same: a single main road surrounded by two small rows of wooden buildings.

Hidden inside her coat were almost a thousand dollars in beaten bills and silver eagles, all painstakingly saved so she could afford a little property in town. Anna hoped she could share the first drink she would have after those grueling, snail-paced months with Elsa.

She simply could not forget; her image had haunted her since she left. The nostalgia of their nights together had been a bittersweet solace in her travels and ever since, she had not lain with another woman; even the sole consideration of doing so was now unsavory. The blue-eyed lady had lassoed her heart. Nevertheless, she obstinately carried on, but after each bounty, her fears grew ever stronger.

Anna had tried to think of her growing affections as a childish infatuation, yet the warm feeling of her memories of Elsa refused to die; a thorn, an ache that she carried around, buried deep within her very soul. After her last bounty – another close call, and her bloodiest affair so far – she surrendered. She packed everything she owned into her saddlebags, sold her old family’s home, and abandoned the long wastes and sun-burning plains for good. Whatever happened next; that is, whether Elsa would accept or reject her, the young redhead would leave to fate.

After briefly greeting the Marshal’s men at the entrance with a quick dip of her hat, she rode straight into the entrance of Bill’s Saloon. Sweet expectation built up in her chest, and once she secured her black stallion outside, she swung the doors open. The somber morning light coming from the windows gently illuminated the polished tables and chairs. With no patrons inside, the heavy sound of her steps reverberated in the spacious room.

The man that stood behind the bar smiled. “What can I do for you, traveler?” He said, offering her a seat with a hand motion.

She approached him. “I’m looking for Elsine.” Anna said straight.

The man’s expression immediately changed: furrowed brows followed by his mouth twisting in disgust.

“Can’t help you,” he stated firmly, shaking his head. He returned his attention to the thick drinking glasses, cleaning one even though it was already spotless.

Anna’s eyebrows furrowed as well.

“What do you mean?” She kept her tone even to not betray the cold chill that ran along her back. “You must know her.”

“Sorry. I can’t help you.” His tone and unwillingness felt rehearsed.

Confusion turned into pure dread that poured down Anna’s chest. She asked again, her patience growing thin as questions raced through her head. Her hopes of a warm welcome had been shattered already. Had something happened? Had Elsa left town?

Had she come back too late?

“Where is she?”

The barman’s silence extended. Without a single word, he continued his mindless task, ignoring her. As Anna opened her mouth to ask again, another voice rose behind her.

“You with her?”

Anna turned to face a dark-skinned woman – her delicate face showing hints of Indian heritage – wearing a long skirt and a loose man’s shirt. In the woman’s neck, the redhead could see the faint marks of love-bites.

“Aye,” Anna replied, “came looking for her.”

“I remember you. You’re the one who got that bandit.” As the lady said those words, something seemed to fall in place for her. She gazed at her from head to toe, and nodded to herself.

“She’s staying at Gerda’s.”

“Honey!” The barman shouted in warning, glaring at the raven-haired woman.

“Only woman with a heart around here.” The woman continued, punctuating her words with a heavy sigh. “She lives behind the mill. You’ll find Elsine there.”

Anna nodded her thanks and left in a hurry. Her head buzzed in worry and anticipation as she quickly strolled through the mud, but she did her best to ignore her runaway thoughts.

Once she found the modest house the lady had indicated, Anna rapped at the entrance. A small face, wrinkled around the eyes, peeked from behind the tiny window of the door.

“What do you want?” the old woman asked, her voice muffled.

“I come looking for Elsa.” Anna stated, trying to keep her tone calm and friendly.

Narrowed eyes stared at her.

“Please.” Anna said, taking off her hat and holding it against her chest. “I come from far, and I have traveled long. Could I see her? I mean no harm.”

She couldn’t help the begging tone that slipped in her last words. The old woman stared at her some more before disappearing from sight. A moment later, the doorway opened only a few inches.

“Your gun.” The woman demanded, sticking out her hand. Anna complied, handing out her revolver, not wanting to spoil her chances to get inside but well aware of how vulnerable she left herself.

At last, the door opened. The old woman, clad in a simple green dress with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, stood out of the way, and Anna entered, dipping her head in acknowledgment.

It was a humble yet warm living room, with evident care put into it. Long cabinets filled with white porcelain and small arrangements of portraits decorated the blue-painted walls. Still, no sign of Elsa. Anna sat down after the old woman offered her a seat on a stiff, small velvet chair, tapping her foot impatiently.

“Elsine is outside.” The woman said as she sat down, giving a quick glance to the furthest door in the room, past the kitchen. “Who are you, dear? What do you want with her?” Gerda’s tone was severe but not entirely disagreeable.

“I am…” Anna struggled, suddenly out of words. “I’m a friend.” She resolved. The woman’s gaze never left her. Smart, grey eyes narrowed for just an instant, but Anna caught the second-long gesture.

The excruciating ticking of the great, tall-case clock marked the heavy silence that followed. The old lady kept eyeing her, her mouth set in a straight line.

“Elsine stopped working, months ago.” She began. “No one knows why. She won’t tell. But people talk, and I heard some tales and whispers from the other women.” Her grey gaze hardened, seizing her up. Anna could practically taste her suspicion.

“She’s been injured…” The old woman continued in a low voice, undoubtedly so Elsa would not hear. “It happened a couple o’ months back, during the winter. Elsine tried to get back into it, and then it happened.” She shook her head again, undoing a few hairs off her prim hairdo.

Everything Gerda spoke of fell and piled in the gunslinger’s gut with the weight of an anvil. Anna’s hand gripped the arm of the chair, her jaw tightly clenched.

“She would not do what he wanted. He was drunk, and got pissed.” Gerda exhaled sadly, shaking her head. She pushed her hands deep into her apron’s pockets. “Elsine tried to fight him, but couldn’t, and that only worsened things.”

Anna would not hear any more; rising shame squeezed her throat tight. She quickly stood up and pushed her way towards the backyard, yanking the door open with a harsh pull with Gerda close on her heels.

Harsh brightness blinded her for an instant. Instinctively, she raised her hand to ward off the sunshine, and after blinking away the worst of it, she lowered her hand, entranced. White linen cloths, as well as a few dresses, hung from several ropes tied to wooden poles on both sides of the small backyard. In between them, Elsa stood, clad in a long navy-blue dress that mirrored Gerda’s, her eyes wide-open after she turned towards Anna.

Elsa was every bit as achingly beautiful as she recalled. Yet, there were painful differences. Freed, curly golden locks bedecked both sides of her pale face, but they did not entirely hide the scar that began just below her left eye, angrily spreading in crossing branches ‘til it reached her ear and the beginning of her scalp. Anna’s heart faltered when she saw the barest hints of another one right at the edge of the woman’s collarbone.

Elsa just stared at her. A long flow of emotions – surprise, yearning, regret, and even anger – passed through the blonde’s gaze in such quick succession the redhead could barely keep up with it, and each inflection on those shining, blue orbs twisted Anna’s heartstrings in different ways.

It all ended when Elsa turned away. Behind her, Anna heard the door closing. They were alone now.

A few quick steps brought Anna closer, but she stopped a yard shy of her. She let out a shaky breath, and her legs refused to move after that. Her jangled thoughts all merged into a single, soft-spoken sentence.

“I should have stayed…” Anna whispered unevenly. The corner of her eyes stung.

No response came: all she could hear was the slow whine of a windmill’s rusty blades. Anna felt as if her insides had been scorched, leaving only coal and black smoke to fill her.

The gunslinger forcefully wiped a few bitter tears as she turned away.

“Yes.”

Anna’s head whipped violently. Her teal eyes widened as they locked with Elsa’s hard stare.

“You should’ve stayed.” The woman said. Her gaze reminisced Anna of their first encounter: iron-cast irises, honed and sharp.

“I should’ve told you to stay.” Elsa’s tone softened, though her arms were crossed over her chest.

Anna took a small step forward. She yearned to touch her, to reassure her, but the blonde suddenly spun, turning her back towards the young redhead again. It did not dissuade her; she reached out and her arms gently embraced Elsa from behind. She smelled different than Anna remembered; a soft scent of lavender and soap instead of the harshness of perfume.

“I’m getting you out of here…” She whispered; her voice thick and heavy. Elsa’s body felt stiff and unyielding, even if she could feel her trembling. Anna squeezed her before taking a step back. Her hands fell and clutched the fabric of her dustcoat.

“I promise.”

Elsa’s gaze remained cast onto the long mountain ranges that formed the horizon; however, she offered a single, curt nod.

For Anna, that gesture was enough. Very slowly, she stepped back, never taking her eyes off Elsa until she stepped back inside the house, closing the door behind her. Bitterness rose in her throat as she leant back against the wooden frame, but she pushed it back. It was not the time for guilt. Not yet.

The old lady approached her, but Anna spoke first.

“Who did it?” she hissed. Gerda’s expression fell, but no answer came. Anna glared at her, but still, Gerda just held her gaze. Anna finally snapped.

“Tell me, damn it!” She yelled, but even then, her voice carried only a fraction of her ire. Gerda’s glare chastised her, nervously glancing back to the yard.

“It was Baxter.” The older woman finally answered. “He owns the leather shop…”

Her brow furrowed. “Is he still here?” the bounty hunter asked incredulously, her tone rising once more.

“Yes. The Marshal is his friend, they go way back…” The old woman muttered.

 _Of course they do_ , Anna thought, seething.

“How do I recognize him?” The gunslinger practically spat the words.

“He is the only one there. Can’t miss him.” The older woman’s voice carried her resignation.

Anna nodded once before she spun around, grabbing her gun off the kitchen table where it lay and stormed off.

-w-

She spotted the store quickly enough, as the windows had the man’s name in clear, bright red letters painted on them. After a quick glance in both directions of the main street, she entered the small building; the soft, melodic sound of wind chimes welcomed her.

“Just a moment.” Came a heavy voice from somewhere behind a wall filled with rows of saddles and whips. A lean man emerged from the back of the store, cleaning his hands with an oil-stained cloth. He was, perhaps, in his late forties, with shining, black short hair and wearing an ironed red vest over a white shirt and a small necktie on top. He stood behind the counter, looking at her expectantly.

Anna felt a sharp, almost painful stab in her belly as she stared at the man’s polite smile; the fingers of her left hand drummed against her belt. She had spent enough time around thieves and killers to see it: the serpent hidden behind the façade of his well-trimmed moustache.

“Yes, how may I help you?” The man asked, widening his grin a little.

Her hands shot forward, violently grabbing the man by his shirt’s neck. With a forceful pull, Anna took him over the counter, trashing him across the tiny room. Just as he tried to get to his feet, his eyes bulging out of their sockets, the gunslinger kicked him hard in the ribs a few times, each hit punctuated by the jingling of her spurs. Even when her fury’s coals burned and twisted in her belly, she kept track of what she was doing.

She let him reach for the handle and pull. The instant he opened the door she kicked again viciously, sending him rolling into the dirt and mud.

Baxter crawled in a futile effort to get away. Anna calmly walked to him and stepped hard over his leg. The man howled, gritting his teeth as he desperately tried to use his hands to pull her boot off him. The redhead took the opening and smashed her fist cleanly against his face; deep scarlet began to trickle down from his nose, falling in small droplets from his chin. He tried to kick her behind her knee, but Anna quickly used her advantage, punching him with all her strength, making his head bounce against the dirt. His legs kicked wildly, sputtering mud all around, but he could never regain the upper hand.

A circle of stunned townsfolk gathered to watch as she dragged the man out into the middle of the main road. Anna heard some yells and calls for the Marshall, but she ignored them, focused as she was on acquainting her knuckles with the bastard’s face.

“Hey! Are you mad?” Two figures emerged as they ran up the dirt road.

When he finally saw clearly the unfolding scene, the fat Marshall reached for his holster, but Anna’s hand was faster: she whipped out her long .36 with her left hand, pointing it towards him and his companion. Both men almost jolted back, freezing on the spot. Her right fist tightened its grasp around the man’s necktie. Blood-shot eyes darted in between her and the Marshall in a breathless plea, and when the man gargled and tried to sputter a few words, Anna silenced him by roughly shoving him downward.

This time the Marshal did unsheathe his gun, same as his man. Anna cocked hers, and most people around them took a step or two back.

“Enough!” The Marshall hollered, cocking his gun as well. “Let him go! What's the meaning of this?”

“She is taking care of what you did not, Carson.” Gerda’s voice broke in between the bystanders. “For what he did to Elsine.”

The people soon started to murmur and whisper amongst themselves. The bald man eyed the townsfolks from left to right, suddenly under lots of heavy scrutinizing stares.

“Boy!” The man shouted to a young kid amidst the onlookers. “Bring her horse!”

Sighing heavily, he lowered his gun, signaling his man to do the same. A moment later, the small fellow appeared with Anna’s horse, reins in hand. The gunslinger reluctantly released Baxter, giving him a last kick for good measure.

“You and your whore stay out of my town.” The Marshal grumbled; however, Anna could see the white-knuckled grip he still had on his weapon.

Thanking the boy with a small silver coin, the gunslinger mounted and quickly directed her stallion to stand in front of the Marshal. Anna leered down at him, blueish eyes boring holes into his reddened face.

“Aye, we will.” She spat at his feet, yanking the reins of her mount. “Pray I don’t decide to come back.”

-w-

They passed the following nights together, yet apart, each one huddled on opposite ends of Gerda’s gifted stagecoach, hearing the soft rains hit the roof’s canvas.

Between the money Anna had gathered over the last year, Elsa’s tiny savings and the few eagles Gerda insisted they took, she managed enough to buy a very small parcel from a rancher, next to the forest’s edge and a couple miles off the main trail.

As the days slowly passed in a mixture of humid evenings and reflection-filled nights, the young bounty-hunter took in everything she could, committing each detail to memory: the focused expression on Elsa’s face as she struggled with the heavy work they carried out in the mornings, the soft glimmer of sweat on her neck and arms and the sideway glances she would catch from her every now and then. Gone were the frilly, seductive dresses and petticoats; the blonde now wore long demure dresses and trousers she borrowed from Anna. They fitted her better, Anna soon decided.

The fourth night, Elsa scuttled to her side on the stagecoach and leaned against her. The redhead, wide-awake, embraced her with a single arm, pulling her closer. Anna felt the heavy cadence of Elsa’s breathing against her; a weight, she thought, she would gladly carry forever.

Elsa helped her build their home, cutting wood or making chewy meals that Anna always ate with a smile.

With the help of Rosario’s carpenter, a cabin sprung to life over a few weeks’ time. A humble dwelling, built from Anna and Elsa’s blistered and splintered hands. As they finished the cabin by themselves, Elsa’s cold gazes became mirthful. Instead of sitting on opposite sides of the small cooking fire, the blonde sat next to her with a composed smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

They did not talk about what happened: a silent understanding in place of useless words.

After making the day-long trip to the closest trading post south of Rosario, they finally moved into their home. A single, cheap mattress occupied half the sleeping room; on the other side of the wall that divided the cabin, in the living room, a pair of wooden chairs and a small red carpet made up the whole of their furniture. The empty spaces, however, spoke about better times; rooms meant to be filled in the years to come. As they both stood in front of the doorframe, Anna felt Elsa’s fingers gently interlocking with her own.

-w-

Wood crackled in the small hearthstone embedded in the living room’s wall. Outside, the evening’s hail had transformed into the first snowfall of the season.

As they sat on the floor next to each other, Anna gaze was transfixed in the small flecks of snow angrily crashing against the small window. She sighed, having sensed the upcoming words, bracing herself. Perhaps it was time, Anna thought sadly, to see if their bond could survive even a brief exchange of truths. Like cast-iron being tested, it would either harden or break.

“Why did you decide to come back?” Elsa asked softly, turning to look at her.

Anna’s gaze fell. She smiled – a contrite, half-smile at best –, and she unbuttoned her woolen shirt, pulling down the left side, exposing her shoulder. A snow-pale hand rose immediately, caressing the bullet scar spreading through the redhead’s freckled skin. Her hand rose to touch Elsa’s face, her thumb mirroring the blonde’s touch, gently going over the violence-born wrinkles creasing the skin on her left eye.

“They finally managed to hit me. It wasn’t worth it anymore. Maybe… it never was.” Anna explained. “If I kept going… I would have missed my chance.”

Stormy, blue eyes searched in teal ones.

“For a moment… I thought I already did.” She continued.

Fleeting shadows danced across Elsa’s cheeks and forehead, half her face bright with the red glow coming from the fire; the other half shrouded in darkness.

“The whole time, I wanted to return to you…” Anna confessed. “It was…” For a moment, she searched for true words, which could make justice to what had blossomed inside her.

“It was as if I left a part of me behind.” She simply said, dropping down her head.

Gentle fingers lifted her chin, and when the redhead gazed at Elsa again, her breath fled. Never before had Anna seen such an expression on Elsa’s features. Her companion’s eyes were, for the first time since she met her, completely naked; they were impossibly raw, shining with devotion that almost scared her.

“I’m glad.” The blonde whispered. Anna felt Elsa’s hands tightly grip her shirt. “I’m glad you came back… And I’m sorry…” Elsa’s voice cracked.

Anna shook her head. “Don’t be…”

A breathy laugh followed, and then Elsa suddenly leaned forward, pulling their lips together. As if she had done this her whole life, Anna’s eyelids fell shut and her hand left Elsa’s face to entangle in her golden hair. There was no hurry in any of their kisses; no more lies or pretenses hidden behind their touches. Only the need remained now.

-w-

Much later into the night, as they lay in bed, she had wrapped Elsa’s body in a tight cocoon made of her arms and the fur blankets. Anna kissed the back of Elsa’s neck, again and again, smiling as she heard the small approving hums coming from her beloved.

Anna fell asleep, at last, as the first, reddish lights of dawn peeked across their bedroom.


End file.
